Maybe the Saddest Thing by Marcus Wicker Page A

bird
    fed off scraps, Anna
    gut-itch flown
    south for life, Anna
    dropper’s stool self-pecked
    slow, Anna
    wince or stool
    dropped again, Anna
    bird sifting
    through his shit, Anna
    slug built by a bird’s
    beak, Anna
    small handgun.
    It’s like this, Anna.
    Like a gun
    the bird doesn’t grip.
    It’s like this, Anna.
    It’s like that.
    It’s like that
    and like this.

When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong
    for Rashad who said
    The difference between bad & good
    rap is the difference between
    silicone & flesh . He legit yelled that
    shit through a karaoke mic
    while arranging end caps
    on an overnight shift. & I swore
    he wasn’t lying. Wasn’t dropping
    some inverse analysis
    about the sad plasticity of pop.
    His shopping cart quaked
    as he snatched a glittered
    jewel case, like
    If we stock one more
    garbage-ass album, homeboy
    I’ma burn Circuit City to the ground.
    What happened next began
    with a black Bic lighter
    sparked & lowered to the corner of
    a cardboard box. The corners of
    my lips slow-motion switched
    from laughter to Don’t do it!
    as he drew an aerosol air spray
    from his slacks. I knocked
    the can from his hand but it was too late—
    the box burst into a small campfire
    & we stomped out
    the wack CDs. It was a long walk
    to the restroom. He tented his
    left thumb under the drain, said
    Niggas be spending they last
    on making good records. Then go
    hungry cause we won’t
    stock ’em.       Normally
    ice in the base of a glass, “Big Brother”
    Shad had lost his cool. Rifling
    through his CD wallet he flipped
    each page with a silver box cutter.
    I watched him slice open bricks
    of blank discs & load up two dozen CPUs.
    What was played was circular
    braggadocio. Baritone gusto
    about being better than every man
    breathing, underrated & hated on. Whole
    songs saying, I’ve been feeling this
    way for eternity. Been
    scribbling rhymes since
    my brother passed in ’89. &
    I spit to box out my rents’ chronic
    scrapping. & I’ve suffered more
    than most in a short time
    alive so my story’s realer than yours.
    I wanted to tell our manager
    I stayed for the music. That
    I had to hear what fever-inducing
    swagger sounded like.
    Needed to watch
    Shad line shelves with unkempt
    voices. That the store needed it too.
    But surveillance cams
    saved me the trouble
    of punking out.
    For ten years, I’ve kept
    Shad’s voice tucked
    just beneath my tongue. & today
    I think he was saying
    the important art feels real
    talks the talk, and probably
    that’s enough. Or
    are those my words in his mouth?
    All I know
    is that on any given day
    there are two types of people, at least:
    One who’d go hungry—get fired
    to be heard. & one who’d hide
    inside a maze full of lines.

When faced with the statement “there are more black men in jail than college,” I think Order of Operations
    P.
    I think I distrust statisticians.
    I think this is problematic.
    I think the square root of this quote is a question.
    I think the question equals at least five answers.
    E.
    I think history is the base of most things.
    I think the superscript could read 1619.
    I think the superscript could be the current year.
    I think history is a linear accumulation.
    M.
    I think if math is wealth then wealth is history.
    I think X marks a continent of loss.
    I think the more you multiply the more you have.
    I think so much depends on personal pronouns.
    D.
    I think the inverse of history is heritage.
    I think heritage halved is power.
    I think power has varied degrees.
    I’m still thinking personal pronouns.
    A.
    I think who you are says a lot.
    I think the second person implies two sides.
    I think it says less plus less equals less.
    I think it says more plus more equals more.
    S.
    I think deducting anything adds a negative sign.
    I think the question equals more than five answers.
    I think statistics can’t fix quotes or